Steele Working Out the Details
by RSteele82
Summary: Steele Searching Part II never explained how Steele and Laura reached an agreement that he was coming home to LA. Their split this round had been anything but simple, she nearly rendezvousing with Westfield, he leaving for London. Steele and Laura work out the details here as well as a couple of points that has continually caused the struggle in their relationship.
1. Chapter 1 - Ultimatum

_**These scenes occur during Steele Searching Pt 2, after Steele has found out the Earl is not his father and directly before Mildred and Laura give Steele his new passport.**_

 _ **As always, thanks go out to my editor, who has worked as hard as I on these while providing me inspiration here and there.**_

 _ **Feedback is always welcome and very appreciated.**_

 _ **Oh, and the normal dribble. I don't own the characters, make no profit, this is just for enjoyment.**_

Chapter 1: Ultimatum

They'd driven back to the hotel in mostly companionable silence, a comment on a site by one of them or the other the only words spoken. Laura knew he needed time to come to terms with the disappointment of finding out the Earl of Claridge was not his father. He had been gracious in the Earl's presence, accepting readily the explanation that the Earl's son had had hazel eyes, not blue. Yet Laura had seen the disappointment in the slightest of drop in his shoulders. It had been another dead end, without any further clues to his real identity at his disposal.

Every once in a while he would flash her a smile, a smile that never reached his eyes. Then, on occasion, believing she was not watching, she would catch him glancing at her, worry accompanied by questions etched upon his face.

She wanted to assure him all would be okay, but she didn't know if it would be. There were questions that needed answers, actions that demanded explanations, apologies that needed to be made… the past to be faced… and only then would they both know if their worlds would remain upright or tilt bottom's up again.

When they arrived at the London Hampton, they walked through the lobby and rode in the elevator to their floor in silence. She had gotten him a room adjoining her own the night before, after the chaotic events during the Earl's wedding reception. Now, he took her room key from her, unlocked the door, then handed the key back to her, his fingers brushing against her own. He felt his body jolt, as it always did when she was close to him. He watched her breath catch and hold, the way it so often did when he simply brushed against her. Then, as she had so many times over the last three years, he watched her tamp her response down and close herself off.

"Do you want to grab a late lunch, around two?" Laura asked. "I have some phone calls I need to make."

He nodded and watched as she took a step into the room. His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, and his fingers wrapped around her arm just above the elbow. Unbidden, the words escaped his lips, soft and with a touch of desperation that made him nearly cringe.

"Where are we, Laura?"

She glanced up at him. She wasn't surprised by the question, knowing one or of the other of them would lend voice to it before the day was out. It was not a question that either of them could have dwelled on another day without going mad. But it was a question that spoke of the hurt they had been both endured, and he saw the sadness flicker through her eyes before she closed them for a brief moment as she shook her head.

"I don't know," she answered in barely a whisper. Opening her eyes, she watched a man pass by them before entering a room three doors down on the left. "We need to talk, but not out here."

He nodded his understanding. Laura pushed the door open and waited until he entered. She grabbed the "Do Not Disturb" sign and hung it on the door, before closing it softly and locking it. She leaned against the door, averting her eyes from him, while he stood across the room from her with his hands stuffed in his pockets. The silence waned uncomfortably between them, before he broke. Shifting, he propped a hip on the desk, trying to appear relaxed. When he raised his head to look at her, the site of her made him ache, wresting the words from him.

"I've missed you, Laura."

"I've missed you too," she answered in kind, voice strained. These were words they'd already shared the night they spent in the flop house. Safe words. Words that did not yet attempt to cross the chasm of all that brought them where they were.

Laura stole a glance at him then averted her eyes again. Taking slow, measured steps around the room, she ran a finger along the dresser thoughtfully before turning around and leaning her backside against it. Bracing her hands on the edge of the dresser, she leaned her weight into them, finally lifting her head to look at him.

"A lot has happened." Her fingers thrummed against the wood. He regarded her cautiously.

"Yes," he agreed solemnly. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She huffed softly.

"I don't know how to do this," she mumbled to herself.

"I imagine the best way," he said hesitantly, "is to say whatever it is that's on your mind." Releasing the bridge of her nose, her arm flopped back down to the dresser top. Thrumming her fingers against it again, she considered him at length.

"Alright," she agreed, drawing out the word, her voice carefully modulated. Warning signs flashed in his head. He slightly shifted his position, a fact not missed by her ever watchful eyes. "Let's start with, where have you been since you left? What have you been doing? Do I need to be concerned that a new exploit might come back to haunt us both?"

While he suspected she'd traced is route already, he had no proof of that, only his instincts to rely on. If he were correct, he knew all too well she was testing his veracity. A lie now could obliterate any possibility of her trusting him ever again. Giving the questions a brief thought, he mentally gave his shoulders a shrug. He had nothing to hide. He puffed out a breath of air as the thought occurred to him that perhaps _he_ should be the one asking the questions. She'd ended them, not he, after all. Wisely, he tamped down that notion.

"I stayed in the Sydney area for a little more than two weeks. Rented a little place in the Palm Beach area. Became rather good mates with several bottles of fine scotch during my time there." Her brows raised in surprise. Long ago, after he'd spent a drunken evening on the floor of his office, he'd quite candidly confessed he abhorred drinking. In the years since, he drank wine, champagne, a rare scotch, always in moderation. To picture him holed up somewhere, indulging in spirits?

"They proved to be dreadful companions, I'm sure you can imagine and hadn't helped at all with …" he eyed her, carefully selecting his words "… clarifying the issue at hand. I decided another change was called for and moved on to-"

"Milan," she interrupted. He only lifted a brow in her direction, as she confirmed her suspicions.

"Portofino," he corrected. She mentally nodded to herself. _Which is why Mildred and I couldn't locate you while you were there. We were looking in the wrong damned city the whole time! Very clever, Mr. Steele._

"One of Fabrini's old haunts?" she guessed, accurately.

"Mmmm," he hummed. "To a point. I'd traveled there a few times for relaxation, the night life. I had it in mind to resume…" he stumbled, unable to say the words, settling for "…to seek some… diversion, if you will."

"What was it? A heist? A con?" she asked, rubbing at her brow. He shot her a quelling look, but not before she caught the look of hurt that flashed through his eyes. Her hand stilled at her brow, then dropped by her side again. "Then what?" His eyes flicked away from hers. Her hands gripped the dresser, knuckles whitening at the stab of pain that slashed through her heart. "Oh," she breathed, unable to offer up any other words.

"That…plan… proved as… successful as the drink as I found myself unable to commit… to the course of action… I'd had in mind. I couldn't… not without knowing… unless I knew for certain there was… uh…" he swept a hand through his hair, growing agitated. Pushing himself off of the desk, he began to pace.

"Knew what?" she prompted quietly. He turned to face her, then in the blink of an eye, strode across the room towards her. Planting an arm on either of side of her, he dipped his head down and claimed her lips with his own. He savored her taste for long seconds, before pulling away to resume pacing, leaving her reeling from both the kiss and the inference in the words before it.

"That, that's _what_ ," he answered gruffly. "I tried, God knows I did, to go through with it. Inevitably I found myself comparing each," he shook his head, leaving the word unspoken, "to you and discovered none could withstand the comparison. I finally… accepted… that if there was a chance that you'd changed your… position… on certain matters…" he scrubbed a hand across his mouth, giving her a pained look "…then I couldn't do that to you. So I moved on."

"To Nice," she said with certainty.

"Cannes. I found there was a decision to be made, or so I believed at the time. I'd planned to spend a month there… sorting things out. It turned out I needed but a few-"

"A decision about what?" she asked quietly. He shot her a piercing look before turning away, returning to lean against the desk, lifting up a hand to worry a thumbnail. Closing her eyes, she nodded her head. "About whether or not you were ever coming back," she concluded, her hurt apparent in her words.

" _How_ I could come back," he clarified insistently.

"Seems fairly simple to me," she shot back. "Buy a ticket, get on a plane!" He launched himself off the desk, to pace again.

"And come back to what, Laura?" He flung out an arm, while enunciating her name. "You'd ended us-"

"I said we needed time!" she interrupted again, her voice rising in accord with her agitation. His face hardened at her words.

"No. No! Give me at least some bloody credit, Laura!" his voice now rising as well. "You ended us! Good and proper at that! Damn well didn't leave a thing to hold onto this time 'round, either. At least after Cannes you made it clear that we remained partners. That we had at least the tatters of our friendship left. But that we, personally, were through. This time, what you said, _how you said it_ , made it patently clear you'd taken it all!"

"Time!" she insisted vehemently. "Time to figure out if the Agency is all we had in common. Time for us to figure out what we want-"

"No, _not us_ Laura. I've known for years what I want. I've nothing to figure out."

"And what is that?"

"Damn it, Laura, _how can you even ask that_?" he questioned. "I've stayed three years for only the _possibility_ of what we're meant be to one another." He shook his head, drawing his hands through his hair. "Laura, do you want me to go back to LA with you?" he asked, suddenly weary.

"Yes," she said without a trace of uncertainty.

"As what?" he asked quietly. He watched as a host of emotions passed through her eyes: longing, need, a want so intense it made him ache in equal measure. Then he watched as the walls went up and she put up that implacable mask of hers. His body sagged under the weight of her refusal to answer. Sitting down heavily on the end of the bed, he dropped his head into his hands, before dragging his fingers through his hair and looking at her, blue eyes somber, pained. He stumbled over the words often, never comfortable discussing anything connected with feelings, but for her he tried.

"Three years, Laura. I've waited three years for you to realize we're meant to be so much more than we were." He shook his head, before resting his chin on knuckles, tilting his head to watch her. "I'm not only speaking of us at last becoming lovers, though I've dreamt of that becoming a reality for more years than I'd care to count." She gave a small snort, while crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing them. "If that was all I'd ever wanted, I could've seduced you long ago. But I don't want it…" He dropped head from his knuckles and scrubbed a his face with both hands, while shaking his head. _That's not right, old sport, better leave nothing to that imagination of hers._ "… I don't want to finally know what it's like to know _you_ , not like that."

"Not like what?" she asked, eying him speculatively. He could see she was torn between her normal doubt and wanting to believe otherwise. He stood, again, taking a few hesitant steps in her direction, threading fingers through his hair.

"Time, Laura. I've stayed three years, _waited_ three years, to give you the time you needed to get past your fears, trust that I'd stay…to…to" he stumbled. "To believe as I did from first we met, to trust in it. I don't want to seduce you into my bed, have never wanted that. I want you to come to me of your own accord, because you _finally_ believe what I've known straight along: We're meant to be so much more than merely lovers.

"I left my life behind, changed everything about myself, in order to be the man you needed, a better man. Someone that might be counted on, even. Perhaps not always successfully," he flashed a brief smile, "but I've tried none the less."

He walked towards the window, and pulling back a drape with a finger, stared out for a moment, before turning back to face her.

"I withstood your decision in Cannes, seeing it as my due." A glance at her showed she was taking it all in, overwhelmed perhaps, but not erecting those walls, shutting him out.

"It was _my_ choices, _my_ failings that'd brought us to that point. I'd no choice in the decision, not matter that it wasn't what I wanted at all. I could only wait you out, respect your decision, all the while hoping that you'd change your mind." He gnawed at his thumbnail for a long minute, the anxiety of sharing so freely, taking its toll. "It was bloody well one of the most difficult things I've ever done, feeling us grow further apart each day, watching you flirt with those bleeding wankers that you dangled in front of me."

Taking a deep breath, he let it out harshly. Sitting back down on the bed again, he swiped at his face, before holding jaw in hand upon perched elbow. He watched her long enough to make her squirm slightly, much to her own chagrin.

"But this time? What had I done? Other, that is, than dozing off with you in my arms while you apparently were discussing business with me? Or at least believed yourself to be?" he challenged.

"You lost the license-" she began.

"Did I? I might have played my part in it, but you had a hand in it as well, did you not?" Her spine straightened, affronted by the accusation.

" _I_ didn't do anything-"

"Precisely," he agreed interrupting again, his voice deadly calm. She avoided his eyes as he continued. "Seems to me, you were nowhere to be found. Running off to Mexico, wasn't it?" He'd been unable to help uttering the words laced with double meaning. He watched as guilt flashed across her face, then carried on. "Perhaps I should have taken the time to read… to learn… the cases you'd handled before I became Remington Steele. I'll give you that, at least. But knowing we were in trouble, you should've bloody well been there!" His voice rose steadily on the last words. Taking a deep breath he forced himself to calm down, knowing his anger would likely only drive them to the point of an explosion. "Instead you left it to me, who knew nothing of those first years, as I was all the while chasing after whoever it was who shot at you. So I'm asking you again, what had I done that deserved you cutting me out cold?"

Pressing the fingertips of both hands hard against her brows, she forced the words past her lips. "I was scared-"

"You think you're the only one that's scared, Laura?" he demanded, once more not allowing her to finish. "I've spent a lifetime reminding myself to never _need_ anyone, to never truly _trust_ anyone, to never lay myself bare to another person. I had become proficient at avoiding entanglements, never staying in one place very long, engaging in short encounters that sated my body but never pulled me in. Then I met you and it all changed. You captivated and terrified me at the same time. There have been days I've tried to battle against the way you're able to draw me in," he laughed briefly, almost bitterly, "and God knows I have tried to convince myself dozens of times that it was time to move on. But I couldn't, try as I might. Without even trying, you made me need you, trust you and before I knew what hit me, I knew that I had to be with you. Bloody hell, I abandoned a year's work, forgoing the Royal Lavulite to keep near you."

Walking over to Laura, Steele reached out and brushed his fingers across her cheek, as she stood wordlessly in front of him.

"When you showed up here in London, I'd hoped that you'd realized what I had: that our fears of giving ourselves over to each other were meaningless compared to what it was like to be without one another. We're good apart, but we are magnificent when we are together." He laughed softly at the thought of the capers they'd shared together across the years. "And when we're apart, we're left with an aching need to be together.

"I can't do this anymore, Laura. I can't go back to LA and simply be your partner. I can't keep pretending that being just your friend is enough. As hard as being without you has been these last four months, it's less painful than standing around day in and day out hoping that you will finally open your heart to me, stop pushing me away and that day never coming because you are too afraid to let me in. I'm not your father, Laura. I'm not Wilson. When I came to LA I had never planned to stay, but stayed when I realized I had never needed to have someone part of my life as I did you. I stayed for you. I changed for you. I stayed for what I knew we could have with each other."

Rubbing a thumb across her bottom lip briefly, Steele took her head in both of his hands, then ran his mouth gently across hers, before pulling back and heading towards the door. Opening it, he laid his forehead against the doorjamb, unable to look at her.

"I've tried for three years to do this your way. If I return, we do it mine. Us, committing to one another, to moving forward, together, not only as friends and partners, but to what what we have, personally. No more hiding, no more running, but working together to make all the possibilities of our relationship real."

Leaving, he closed the door behind him. He knew she would need time to sort through everything he had shared and he needed time as well to recover from the emotions whirling around him. Glancing briefly at his room, he decided he needed to get away from the hotel, to walk, to clear his head, to give her time.


	2. Chapter 2: Committed

**Chapter 2: Committed**

It was nearing one-thirty when Steele returned to the hotel. The last week had taken a physical toll on him. He hadn't told Laura that the wound to his stomach, caused when he was impaled upon the fence, had been opened back up as he'd rescued her from the hands of Galt, a serial killer. Nor had he informed her of the deep contusions across his shoulder that happened as Galt had horsewhipped him. Only the next morning, he was grabbed off the street and would spend the better part of the remainder of the week with Armstrong's men trying to figure out how to stop their assassination attempt on the Earl of Claridge. And, of course, as luck would have it, when Laura had tackled him to the ground believing he was going to shoot the Earl, the fragile abdominal wounds had begun seeping once more. He had repacked the wounds himself the night before refusing to even consider seeing a physician. For years, he and Laura had been treating themselves, for the most part, and he preferred it that way.

He pulled off his jacket as he walked through the door to his room, tossing it on his bed. It was only then that he noticed a stack of clothes lay folded on his bed, while a garment bag had been laid over the back of the desk chair. He glanced at the door to the adjoining room knowing that Laura would have been responsible for this. Normally, he would be unable to resist going to her in order to thank her for the consideration that was second nature to her. But things were far from normal at the moment. So he simply sighed and unknotted his tie, tossing it on top of the jacket.

He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked to the bathroom, then removed his cuff links. He pulled the shirt off slowly, favoring his left shoulder which was tight under the bruising. After dropping the shirt to the floor, he glanced down at his abdomen and saw the gauze taped over the wound had discolored, both brown from old blood and spots of red from fresh.

Shaking his head, he braced himself as he began to peel the tape away from his skin, still finding the sting of the hair being pulled from his skin more uncomfortable than the wound itself. His hands froze as he heard the soft gasp from behind him. Opening his eyes, he looked in the mirror and saw Laura standing behind him, hand over her mouth as her gaze ran across his shoulder.

"Laura, what are you doing here?" he asked, exasperation tingeing his voice.

"You're not the only one that can pick locks."

"I'm well aware of that since I'm the one who taught you how to pick them. What are you doing here?"

Laura ignored his question, as she stepped forward and touched her fingers lightly to the streaks of bruises that crossed his shoulder and upper arm, moving downward towards his shoulder blade in the back. She felt him stiffen under her touch and tried not to let his subtle rejection of her touch wound her.

"What happened? When?" she asked softly.

"Galt, the whip," he answered shortly.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"There was little point. It's just bruised. It'll heal on its own." _I didn't want you to feel guilty that it had happened while trying to save you_. She stepped around him to look over the arm, then the front of the shoulder, assuring herself it was, indeed, only considerable bruising.

"You should have told me…" Her voice stilled as her eyes caught hold of the bloodied bandaging that lay over his abdominal wounds. He watched her as alarm flitted across her face, then annoyance. "I guess there was little point in telling me about this too, right? How long have you been bleeding again?"

He chose to ignore her question, and turned and left the bathroom after grabbing his shirt off the floor. As he began to thread his arm into a sleeve, Laura yanked the shirt from his hands and tossed it back on the floor. She glared at him, planting her hands on her hips.

"How long have your wounds been bleeding again, Mr. Steele?" she demanded.

His mouth hardened with annoyance. "Since Galt," he said tightly.

Laura glanced at his bed, strewn with the clothes he had been wearing along with the piles of fresh clothes laid upon it.

"Go to my room and lay down," she ordered.

"There's no need. I'm perfectly capable of tending to my own self," he argued, irritated at being ordered about.

"Now," she responded in her voice that brooked no arguments.

"I'm not a child, Laura. I'd thank you to stop speaking to me as if I were."

"Then stop acting like one," she snapped. "My door is open, go. I'm just going to gather up whatever you have here and then see what I have in my room."

Steele glared at her for several long moments, then knowing she would keep at him until he gave in he turned on his heel and walked stiffly towards her room through the adjoining door. Yanking two pillows out from underneath the bedspread, he stacked them up before reclining on her bed and waiting for her.

Laura returned to her room in short order with several supplies setting them on the bedside table. In her bathroom she retrieved a wet wash cloth and towel along with a bottle of alcohol from her overnight bag. Sitting down on the bed, she reached over and began peeling away the tape holding the bandaging to his abdomen, feeling him stiffen under her touch. She was unsure if the reaction was due to the sting of the tape pulling on his hair or simply because she was touching him. At the thought it may well be the latter, she felt a small stab of pain in her heart.

Steele studied her, seeing the pain flit briefly across her face, forcing him to close his eyes. He hated to see her hurting, had never been able to pretend he was indifferent to it. He was off kilter knowing that if she chose not to overcome her fear and agree that they would work towards a future together, he had realized during his walk earlier he would not be able to leave her – professionally or otherwise. He would simply have to move forward, personally, without her and that realization had wrenched his heart. He'd painted himself into a corner that afternoon with the all-or-nothing speech, and would have to rescind it at the end of the day.

He flinched as the last of the tape came off. When he felt her fingers brush against his bare skin, his body reacted viscerally, flooding with need for her. With considerable concentration he tamped down his body's response, a skill he had become regrettably talented at over the last three years.

Laura had been studying him as she removed the tape. She had noted his reaction to her, then had felt it as he had stiffened under her touch. She had seen, too, his need sweep across his face when she touched him, then had watched him battle off his desire. She had spent a stressful couple of hours trying to come to terms with what she wanted, realizing after hours of anxiety that she had known for three years exactly what that was. She was simply unable to figure out a way to tell him when he had removed himself so far from her.

He was fighting for them, a future together. She knew that. She also knew to give him what he needed, what they both needed, she was going to have to share difficult truths of her own, as he had done earlier for them.

She examined the wound and found that while it was still seeping blood, it didn't appear infected. She breathed a sigh of relief. Grabbing the washcloth, she began cleaning the blood off his stomach and from around the punctures, as she began to talk softly.

"When Wilson left me, I had no idea it was coming. I knew he wasn't happy with some of the things I had done… some… parts… of me. But I had tried hard to change for him, to be what he needed me to be. I locked away, for the most part, the impulsive, reckless side of myself. I became more staid, more … reserved... in public, presenting myself as the responsible and sensible woman who was worthy of being a banker's partner. I thought I'd become what he needed, that he loved me…" She looked upwards, blinking hard, before continuing on "…that we were happy. Then I came home one day and he was gone. No warning, no discussion, just everything he'd brought with him _gone_ except for few pieces he had left behind here and there." She laughed lightly at the memory of Steele finding a few of those examples several years before. "White belts…a t-shirt that said 'Bankers do it with interest.'" She snorted lightly at the last

Setting aside the wash cloth, she grabbed the bottle of alcohol from the bedside table, and pouring some on a clean gauze pad, paused. She looked up at him and saw his eyes concentrating on her. "This is going to burn," she warned. He gave a sharp nod of his head and said nothing. She smiled briefly, then turned back to his wound.

"Wilson moved on, never missing a beat, whereas I…I was destroyed. Two men I'd loved had left me in a decade, never looking back. It had taken me years after my Dad walked out on us to risk trusting someone like that again. Wilson seemed… safe. He was steady, dependable, reserved… and the least impulsive person I had ever met. The idea of him walking out of a committed relationship never even occurred to me. Everything he did was so methodical, so… planned… from our first date. The first time I tried to get him to go to bed with me, he pushed me away. Told me that a couple should not sleep together until at least three months had passed and they determined that they were both amenable to the idea."

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes and laughed. Then, the idea of three months had seemed absurdly long to her. Now, crossing the three year mark with the man in front of her? Laura set the alcohol back on the table and tossed the gauze pad into the trash can. Refusing to look at him this time, she picked up the scissors and laid them down on his stomach, before concentrating on pulling out the soaked packing.

"I didn't realize then that he was consuming me, controlling me. I only knew that I'd do whatever it took to prevent him from leaving me. I started coming home from work early to cook him dinner, or at least tried to, only to be met with criticism about how poor the meal was." She gave a shrug of her shoulders, as though acknowledging that was a given. "I revamped my wardrobe, disposing of my clothes that would be met with an eye roll from him, and began to dress conservatively, as he felt the partner of a banker should. In the bedroom he constantly told me I was too wild, too passionate, that he was not some one night stand I picked up, some fling, and sex together should be restrained… appropriate. I tried to change there as well, but still he would often tell me I was absurdly passionate and made it clear that I needed to… control myself."

Laura felt the blush crawl up her cheeks, and refused to look at him, as she continued to extricate and cut soaked packing from his wound.

"I thought I was happy, though looking back I know I wasn't. I thought I was playing every part he needed me to, in order to keep him there. Yet, still, he left me. Good, old, dependable Wilson who had every moment of each day planned, simply left. He devastated me, and it took me more than a year to pick up the pieces and move on, determined to find a way to be respectable and restrained enough to earn anyone's approval from that point forward. I promised myself I'd never allow myself to become attached again, because at the end of the day they all leave."

She looked at him then. Saw the white hot anger burning in his eyes, yet he remained quiet, giving her what she needed: the chance to tell him.

"In my entire life I have only known two men that have not left: Mr. Johannsen, our neighbor, and Donald. And no matter how much I've tried to change, I'm not a Mrs. Johannsen or Frances. I can't let go of my job, my independence."

Laura turned and threw away the soaked packing, then reached for the thin roll of gauze to add a bit more fresh packing to his wound. She looked up at him again before starting, then dropped the roll on the bed. Unable to resist the blue eyes that followed her every movement, she reached up and brushed the strand of hair lying on his forehead back. She ached to have him touch her, hold her, and it scared the life out of her, as it did every time.

Steele watched the emotions flitting across her face, and knew what she was telling him would somehow be pivotal in where they ended up. Reaching up, he took her hand in his, and turning it over kissed it on the palm, watching as she closed her eyes when his lips contacted her skin.

"Go on, Laura," he told her quietly. She smiled briefly and nodded, then returned to packing his wound.

"Then there you were. The first time our eyes met, there in my office, I felt like it was the first time I'd been awake in years, maybe most of my life. It wasn't just the physical attraction, although that certainly was part of it, but it was far more the kindness, the gentleness and the need I saw in your eyes when you looked at me. Even as you were planning to steal the Royal Lavulite out from under me, I couldn't let go of what you made me feel. Then, when the jewels left, you did too. Watching you drive away in that cab, I wished you had stayed. Then suddenly you were there in my office. It was wonderful and overwhelming, all at once."

Laura paused, remembering the shiver of joy that had swept through her body, seeing him sitting behind his desk that day.

"I knew I was insane, handing over the role of Remington Steele to you. It was already too complicated. Your past, my illusion of Remington Steele, and especially how we were drawn to each other. How ironic was it that you were exactly the man that I was most afraid of: the man that never stayed anywhere longer than a few months, who could walk away and never look back? You scared the hell out of me. When you kept staying, you scared me even more because you managed to work yourself into more than my professional life. I tried not to get too close, not to depend on you, not to count on you being there the next day, not to need you. Yet, it seemed no matter what happened, no matter how I fought to keep you from getting too close, you kept staying and pulling me further in. A part of me started to believe you were here for good, that you would even forgive me when I failed to be what you needed. Then you finally left, just like they all do."

He felt her hands trembling against his abdomen as she taped back down the gauze pad, and could see the tears she refused to shed shimmering in her eyes. Reaching down, he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle pull.

"Come here, Laura," he implored her gently.

Laura looked up at him and saw her need reflected in his own eyes. Setting aside the gauze and tape, she stretched out on the bed, then laid her head on his shoulder, letting out a shaky breath as his arm wrapped around her to pull her close to his side. She relaxed in his embrace, needing the comfort of him touching her, then laid her hand on his chest before he covered it with his own.

"Keep going," he prompted, feeling her nod of agreement against his shoulder.

"You told me how hard it was for you these last four months. You seem to think it wasn't as hard on me, but you're wrong. I couldn't function. I would get up each day, force myself to get dressed and go to the office, knowing I wouldn't see you that day or any other. There were times when the phone would ring that I believed it was you, _hoped_ that it was finally you, but it never was. There were times when the phone would ring and I would immediately feel sick to my stomach, scared to death that it was someone calling to tell me you were hurt or in jail or even worse, dead, somewhere in the world and I wouldn't be able to get to you in time. I couldn't sleep because I would dream of how it felt to be in your arms, how it felt when you kissed me and I would wake up aching for you to be there to stop it from hurting."

"I spent more nights than I can remember driving around in LA, trying to remember everywhere you had taken me over the years, hoping that I would find you. On those nights, I couldn't go back to the loft where you used to call me each night before I went to bed, just to talk. I would go to your apartment instead and sleep in your bed, where I could feel you close, where I could still smell you, part of me hoping that I would wake up in the morning and find that you'd come home. But you never did."

"I stopped spending as much time at the office. It was too hard, walking through those doors, seeing your name written on them, reminding me that you'd left me. I couldn't face Mildred and her questions about you ten hours a day, and having to pretend you were just away on business when I didn't know if I would ever see you again. I started turning down clients, because when they would ask when they could meet with you it was like a physical blow. There were days when the only reason I would go to the office was in hopes that finally the last name on your passports would appear and I'd know where to find you."

"But even when that name did appear, how would I find you? Safe or hurt? Trodding the straight and narrow, or returned to your old life? Happy that you'd finally rid yourself of me and all my inhibitions, or wanting to come home? I didn't know. I could only hope..."

He released her hand, then moved his fingers under her chin and tipped it up so she was looking at him. "Hope for what, Laura?"

"Hope that you still wanted to be with me. Hope that you could forgive me for shoving you away yet again."

"And what do you want now?"

Laura knew this was a make or break point for them. Summoning up her courage, she looked him squarely in the eye as she laid a hand against his cheek.

"The same thing I've wanted since the night you left. You, back home in LA, with me."

He closed his eyes in thanks, reopening them when he felt her leave his arms and sit up, propping herself against the backboard of the bed. He pushed himself up and sat similarly, assessing her. She was clearly nervous, her hand reaching for her brow again.

"What is it, Laura?" Tucking her legs under her, she turned to face him, looking at him earnestly.

"Promise me…" she started, her voice firm, yet quiet.

"Promise you what?"

"Promise me you won't leave again. Promise, that if things go wrong, if we fight, you won't leave but stay so we can work through them together." He tucked her hair over her shoulder, his eyes holding steady with hers.

"I promise," he told her gently. "I'm not going anywhere, Laura."

Laura nodded, the relief showing clearly on her face. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his. Steele reached up and cupped the back of her neck with his hand, pulling her closer and covering her lips with his own. The need to be closer to one another vibrated between them. Laura reached over and wrapped both her arms around his neck as his arm reached around her then slowly shifted them downwards until he was lying flat on his back with her lying partially atop of him. Pressing a hand on the back of her head to bring her lips tighter against his own, desire for her coursed through his body and he could not suppress the small groan of pleasure that escaped his mouth.

She reacted immediately, just as she had that morning, breaking off the kiss and pushing herself away from him. He watched her with trepidation. When she lifted a hand towards her brow, he grabbed her hand and held it.

"What is it, Laura?" he implored, frustrated and confused. Years of her backing away had driven a fissure between them. "Do you not want to be lovers?"

"You know I do," she answered, laying her hand on his chest to reassure him.

"Then what?" She moved suddenly to get off the bed, but he quickly sat up and wrapped his arm around her waist preventing her from leaving.

"Laura, look at me," his other hand reached under her chin and cupped it, forcing her to face him, "Look at me." She fought the urge to shake herself free and lifted her eyes to his. The fear, the self-doubt he saw in her eyes, clawed at his insides. "Talk to me." She lifted his hand from her waist and moved from the bed. She paced, talking to him as she did so.

"It's me, it's us, it's you," she said emphasizing the words with a flip of her hand towards him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat there his blue eyes zeroed in on her, waiting for her to continue. She growled softly, agitated.

"With Wilson, I was always hearing about how I was too wild, too impulsive, too passionate in bed and out of it. I changed everything about me for him, and still he walked away."

"I'm not Wilson, Laura," he quietly pointed out.

"I know you're not. I've seen your… reaction… when a little of that old me, that pre-Wilson me, has come out. It's not that."

"Then what?"

"I'm worried that I won't be able to bring that old me out for you. I've spent seven years making sure that the old Laura stays buried, so that she won't cost me another relationship. And if I can't find her, then what?..."

"Laura…," he began to interrupt.

"No, wait, let me finish," she half asked, half demanded, her voice rising, while holding a hand up indicating he should let her go on. He nodded, then returned his eyes to watch her as she paced.

"Then there's you. The man that has never stayed in one place longer than a few months. Yet, here we are three years later and you never left, you stayed… until you didn't…" Seeing he was about to interrupt again, she once more held up her hand, silencing him.

"Then there's us. There's always something coming between us, be it a person showing up at the door when we're moving towards the bedroom or someone from the past, turning our lives upside down in the process. There are times I've asked myself, since something always seems to come between us, preventing us from moving ahead, is there a reason? Is this…" she flicked her hand between them "…not meant to be?"

"That's a bit superstitious, don't you think, eh?" Steele asked quietly.

"You have your paintings with a curse on them, I guess this one's mine," she was quick to reply, crossing her arms defensively. He moved to her, taking her hand in his, he lead her back over to the bed. She looked at him questioningly, beginning to wonder if he heard anything she said.

"We seem to be missing a fireplace to stretch out and relax in front of while we talk," he noted.

She hesitated a moment, then climbed up on the bed, moving to the center of it, then stretched out on her side facing him, a hand propping up her head. He climbed up on the bed, then moving closer to her, stretched out on his side as well.

"First off," he began, "as it relates to me, I'm not going anywhere, Laura. I've stayed three years hoping we could move what's between us, forward. If anything, our time apart has only made me want that all the more. Do you understand?"

"All too well," she answered with a small smile, then reached up to brush his hair off his brow.

"Secondly, as far as this superstition of yours, perhaps we need to come to an agreement that will eliminate that concern."

"What kind of agreement?" she asked, a slight air of suspicion threading through her words to accompany the wrinkle between her brows.

"You weren't wrong in LA when you said we are always trying to squeeze our personal lives into our professional ones."

"So what do we do?"

"We need to start taking time for us. Just us. Phone off the hook, leave our professional lives outside the door, and focus on what we are and are meant to be together. Can you do that?" He watched as her eyebrows raised and her eyes shifted up while considering it.

"I think I can do that," she agreed.

"Finally, Wilson is a bloody fool for not appreciating, you, all of you. There is not a part of that delectable body or stimulating brain of yours that fails to keep my mind and body thoroughly enchanted. As for that other Laura? I feel her every time we touch, in the way you respond to me before you pull away. I relish her, as much as I do all the parts of you."

He ran his lips softly against hers several times, until she reached up around his neck with her hand and pulled him closer to her. She sank back on the bed, wrapping her other arm around his bare back. She ran a hand over his shoulder as the kiss deepened while she pulled him down to lay partially on top of her. He slowly broke off the kiss then lay his lips next to her throat, his warm breath heating her skin, before pushing himself up on an elbow so he could look down at her. Brushing that unruly lock of hair from his brow, she rested her hand against his jaw.

"As much as I'd like to think otherwise, this won't be easy," she predicted.

"It never is with us," he agreed, picking up her hand and pressing his lips against each fingertip.

"You're a stubborn man, Mr. Steele," she pointed out.

"One has to be in order to withstand your own mule-headedness, Miss Holt." He touched his lips to hers.

"You don't take many things seriously." She exchanged the favor.

"A must, in order to balance your constant pragmatism." Giving her lip a playful little nip, he upped the ante.

"You've got a temper." She pressed her lips to his and lingered there until she felt his lips move over hers. She backed away with a little grin.

"Pales in comparison to your own." With a bit of the devil in his eyes, he dared a quick taste of her neck, smiling smugly when he felt her hands twitch against his arms. She didn't even have to see him to know the smile was there. _Two can play at that game, buster._

"Being committed won't solve all the issues standing between us." Sliding both hands into his hair, she pressed him downward. She suckled lightly on the sensitive skin beneath his ear, laughing softly when she felt his body tremor.

"But it will make them all the more difficult to wiggle around, eh?" he returned, slightly breathless. He leaned down to capture her lips with his, only nearly plant his lips on the sheet when she neatly rolled away from him. He propped his head up on his hand, leaning on an elbow and watching as she primly straightened her skirt and sweater.

"You don't play fair, Miss Holt."

"Merely imitating the master, Mr. Steele."

Shifting on the bed, he rearranged the pillows and propped himself against the headboard, hands behind his head, as a thought came to mind.

"Ironic, isn't it? I come here to find out my real name, offer it to you as proof of my commitment, and now, not only are we still in the dark as to who I am, but I no longer know who I was."

"I tried, but- Inspector Lombard won't give back your passports." She toyed with her ear, and with her back to him, made no attempt to hide her coy little expression.

"Do you like London, Laura?"

"I haven't exactly hit the usual tourist attractions."

"Well, it seems to me, if our relationship is to continue, it will have to be here…"


End file.
